"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. “What do we want? What is the goal?” asked Ann Veronica. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone.
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